


The Grand Kidnapping of Thorin Oakenshield

by Within_N_Without



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Within_N_Without/pseuds/Within_N_Without
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin's heart aches for Bilbo, but it was not his right to ask him to stay and now it's too late. He's gone. He's been gone for ten years, but it's not been any easier. He's resigned to the fact that he'll be alone for the rest of his days. </p><p>Until he gets kidnapped. </p><p>By four hobbit babes, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grand Kidnapping of Thorin Oakenshield

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written by request. Hopefully, it fulfills the prompt. There weren't any specific requests for what should happen after the kidnapping, so anways. Enjoy.

Bang, Bang, Bang! 

Thorin startled at the knock. The door was still shuddering in its frame. With a snort, Thorin shouted, “Enter!” already knowing to expect Dwalin. No one else came so close to breaking his door down. He was starting to think that Dwalin used the knobkierie he’d bought off the southerners who’d come to the first market to sell their wares. Dwarrows didn’t use blunt weapons in battle, so Dwalin had been using the strange weapon to knock unruly councilors’ heads when they got too rowdy. 

The door opened, but it wasn’t Dwalin who came in.

Smaller than the children of Men, four little babes with big, naked feet and serious expressions entered his chamber. They wore tiny waist coats, pouches around their middles, and short traveling capes; and each held a section of one long rope. When one babe moved forward too fast, those behind him stumbled and hopped to keep up. 

It was unbecoming for a King to gape open-mouthed at visitors. Thorin closed his mouth with a snap of teeth and slowly rounded his desk. If he moved too quickly, he felt as if they’d disappear. 

“Hello, little ones,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “I must admit, never have I had such interesting guests.”

“We’re not guests,” the brown-haired babe at the end declared. 

“We’re kidnappers!” the one in front of him yelled, gleefully.

The last babe kicked him. “You’re not supposed to tell him, Pippin!”

“It wouldn’t be very honest if we didn’t, Merry!”

The babe on the end, Merry, kicked Pippin again. “Kidnapping isn’t supposed to be honest!”

“How would you know? You’ve never kidnapped anyone before!” Pippin accused. 

“Don’t you remember the stories? Orcs don’t play fair when they kidnap elves!”

“We’re not Orcs!” Pippin shouted.

“Yeah, we’re not!” the fluffier babe, second from the front yelled at the two behind him, his little cheeks reddening with frustration. “We’re hobbits and hobbits don’t have to be like Orcs. Which means the two of you better remember your manners, or I’ll throw the potatoes at you instead of the king!”

“H-hobbits?” Thorin choked on an indrawn gasp. There had not been a hobbit in his halls for nearly a decade. “How is this possible?” 

Shaking his head at his companions, the one in front with the dark hair said, “We’ve come to kidnap you.”

On cue, his little companions reached into their pouches and removed…small, round, red-skinned potatoes. Threateningly raising the arms that weren’t holding the rope, they tried to growl at Thorin. 

The dark haired one pulled at his cloak, tugging a burlap sack into view. “If you’d please, Mister King, we have to tie you up and put you in this.” He shook the sack for emphasis.

Thorin couldn’t help it. He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face, into his beard. 

The little hobbitlings grumbled, faces scrunching up like crab apples. 

The fluffy one stomped his foot and shook an accusing potato at Thorin. “This isn’t funny. We’re really kidnapping you. Now, please turn around with your hands behind your back and let us tie you up.” 

Thorin was about to tell the fluffy baby hobbit that kings couldn’t just be misappropriated by children. Not even by those of such a fearsome race as the hobbits. 

But then Dwalin stepped into the room, leaning against the door jamb, thumbing the edge of Grasper. “You heard the laddie. Turn around.”

Thorin scoffed at him. “So, it’s you who’s responsible for this. Well, you’ve had your fun. Return these babes to their parents.”

“It’s not a joke!” Merry shouted, terribly offended. 

“Aye, indeed it’s not. I’ve been told to make sure you comply with their demands.”

“You’re my guard,” Thorin growled, a little less amused at seeing Dwalin’s smirk.

The dwarf shrugged. “If you’ve got any questions, I can fetch the wizard to explain things to ya, but as of right now, you’re officially kidnapped.”

“The wizard! Of course…but why would he do this? What’s his game?”

Dwalin cocked an eyebrow at the dark haired hobbitling.

Kicking the ground shyly, the babe turned to Thorin. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m officially kidnapped,” Thorin said, with a pointed glare at Dwalin. “Which means I’m in your custody. You have all the time in the world.”

When the boy still seemed disinclined to speak, Dwalin nudged him. “Go on. Tell him what you told me.”

With a huff, the boy faced Thorin and squared his shoulders. “My name is Frodo and my parents…are gone. They’re…in the green fields of Yavanna. I’ll see them again someday, but for now I live with my Uncle. 

“He takes care of me, even though he’s not used to company. No one comes to visit at tea time and, if they do, Uncle hides behind the door. He never goes to parties and he sends everyone away, even though I know he’s lonely. The only time he smiles is at bedtime, when he tells us stories about dwarrows on his doorstep, trolls stealing ponies, and elves, good and less good. And, in each of these stories, when he mentions the dwarrows, and especially their king, his eyes get misty and he has to fetch his handkerchief.”

Thorin’s breath caught. “Your uncle is Bilbo,” he guessed, looking down at the babe with renewed awe. In truth, the hobbitling looked nothing like his uncle. “Tell me, babe, what is your name.”  
The raven haired child gaped at him. “I’m not a babe!”

But before he could go off on an affronted tirade, his fluffy companion nudged him. A silent reminder to hold true to his manners like a proper hobbit.

“My name is Frodo.” And then, as if out of spite, he pointed to the fluffy one. “And this is Sam.” 

Sam scowled, but made a proper show of a greeting, bowing at the waist and offering a, “How do you do, Mister King.”

Thorin nodded, regally, before turning to Frodo. “So then, little hobbit, I think there’s more for you to tell, now that we’ve had our introductions. That you are Bilbo’s ward explains nothing of your presence here.”

Frodo straightened his narrow shoulders and strained his voice to make it louder in the large office. “Bilbo’s done so much for me, but he’s not happy. And from the stories Gandalf tells, he’s done much for you too. His stories also tell of a happiness you two grew in each other. But if you’re so happy together, why are you so far apart?”

Thorin sighed, his chest tight with disappointment. “I’m sorry, little hobbit. The wizard should have spared you this journey, for well he knows my responsibility is to my people. Fili is still too young to wear the crown. I must stay here. And Bilbo…he belongs in the Shire, with his family, with his books and his armchair, and with you.” He patted Frodo’s shoulder carefully, wary of the frail bones beneath his heavy hand.

But Frodo wasn’t listening. His eyes were on Dwalin. 

“Sorry, Thorin. If it were just the wizard, I could’ve been persuaded to stay in your corner and defend whatever ya wanted – ”

“But it’s not just Tharkun,” a familiar voice interrupted. The door swung open and Dis sauntered in, spinning the keys to the Throne Room around her finger. “Too long have you wilted beneath the weight of that crown and your sorrow and your guilt. Too long have you risen too early and gone to bed too late. Too long have you hid your heartbreak behind frowns and glowers. It’s time to go brother. You’ve lived your destiny. Now, go get your destined.”

“Namad, you know the effort is wasted. It cannot be done. Bilbo and I both have responsibilities to others. Neither of us is free. We are stuck in our opposite corners of the world. If we’re destined for anything beyond the quest, it’s to be apart.”

For a moment, Dis looked like she was going to argue. But then her face cleared of irritation and she said, “Don’t worry, nadad. I will keep your kingdom running like clockwork.” And she cocked her arm back and swung straight for his face.

#DISK SKIPS#

Thorin woke up with a throbbing headache, face pressed against horsehide, hands tied behind his back, and the sound of pleased giggles in his ears.

“I can’t believe she did that,” a little hobbit babe proclaimed.

“I can’t believe it only took one punch,” another said.

“Aye, our dwarrowdams are fierce,” Dwalin chuckled. “Ye should have seen their mother.” 

“Not nearly as fierce as her great-grandmother. Now, there was a dwarrowdam who could have scared the scales right off a dragon!” Gandalf threw in, eyes twinkling at the memory. 

They were all on horses, the babes sitting in front of the adults – Gandalf, Dwalin, Kili, and Bofur – with Thorin at the back on the supply horse, tossed on top of the duffles like a bag of potatoes. He even had the appropriate sack, though it was only big enough to cover him up to the knees. 

With a furious growl, Thorin demanded, “Untie me! NOW!” 

Bofur and Kili had the decency to wince, but Dwalin just snorted and Gandalf pretended not to hear as the little babes giggled and threw peeks backward at the hapless king. 

Thorin glared daggers at his guard, the only one he had any hope of persuading to see reason. Not to mention, Dwalin was probably the only one in the party who’d dare go against the wizard. 

As much as he hated to say it, given their little audience, Thorin was still king and as king, it was his right to be off this horse and back in his mountain if he wanted to be. No sister or magic wanderer was going to command him. So, straightening to the best of his ability, he asked his guard, “How do you imagine this scenario will play out if we are ambushed here on the road?”

When he saw Dwalin stiffen, he continued, “Four hobbit babes on ponies that are one spook away from tearing off across the countryside, and me on this packhorse. Defenseless. With arms tied behind my back. This beast carries the heaviest burden. Would you leave me here, Dwalin?”

The dwarrows in the party started to look at their surroundings more closely at Thorin’s suggestion, hunching closer to their charges at the reminder of Orcs and highway robbers. And Dwalin looked at a scowling Gandalf imploringly.

“He’s got a point,” Dwalin said.

Merry, who sat in his lap, poked him in the ribs. “I can’t believe it! You’re actually falling for it? That’s the same dirty trick Pippin uses and you, the Great Mighty Dwarf War Hero, are falling for it?!”

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. “It’s no trick,” he said, poking the babe back in a ticklish spot, “the world’s a dangerous place, wizard or no. You never know what you’ll find on the road. It’s best not to tempt fate with a defenseless king on a slow-moving pony.” 

Merry snorted. “He’s just trying to make you worry. There’s also chance the moon might one day fall out of the sky, but you don’t see people carrying around metal umbrellas.” 

But Dwalin was ignoring his little charge in favor of glaring at Gandalf. “What guarantee do you have, wizard, that this road is safe and will remain so?”

Gandalf huffed, grouchily. “Do not worry, Master Dwalin, you’re king will be given a proper pony along with his precious sword. But only once we are farther from the mountain. I have not traveled all this way to fail this mission due to a king’s fear of rejection.”

Thorin gaped at him. “I DO NOT fear rejection! What’s there even to reject?”

He should have stopped with the first sentence. The whole party turned to glare at him. 

“Don’t even, uncle, or I’ll tell everyone about the insufferable evenings you’ve spent brooding at the fireplace with a copy of Bilbo’s book in your hands, just tracing the cover and reading the inscription to yourself,” Kili said.

“Aye, don’t start! Or I’ll tell everyone about all the times I’ve had an order on my desk to send out a guard to fetch the hobbit from the Shire in the morning, sent them out at noon, and had a cancellation on my desk by evening. I had to hire more guards, just to have someone to guard the mountain while your orders have me playing fetch with my men,” Dwalin complained, loudly.

“Well, now, that reminds me of all the times the King sent down orders for Bombur to make all of Bilbo’s favorite desserts and send them up. Heard from Oin he’d make himself sick eating the stuff. He said it was a strange way to reminisce given ya don’t even like sweets,” Bofur threw his two cents in.

Cheeks rouging, Thorin wished he had his arms untied. There had to be something on this packhorse he could throw at his traitorous companions. The nerve! Telling embarrassing stories about their King in front of impressionable young hobbitlings who’d likely retell every story to their uncle. It was unconscionable! 

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Frodo giggled. “He sounds just as bad as Bilbo!”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Indeed, Mister Bilbo is always packing and unpacking his bag, and making cram for the road, and then deciding he’s too old for adventures and too dull for grand kings to remember him.”

Thorin, who was of course listening intently to any news of Bilbo, growled at that, startling his companions. “Too dull for kings? Which kings? Certainly not Bard or Lord Dain. Every event they attend, the first questions they ask are all about him. Whether he’s come back, if he’s healthy, if he’s happy. And they demand I tell them the moment he decides to visit, because they miss the tiny Halfling that stood before three armies and tried to broker peace. Hmph, as if I’d tell them. If he comes to visit, it will be the Company he’ll want to see. What?!” he growled at all the eyes that suddenly were focused on him.

Kili shook his head. “And you have the nerve to call me oblivious. I may not be good at council, but I knew my One as soon as I met her,” he muttered.

“Hey! Don’t presume I don’t know my One,” Thorin seethed. 

“Uh, Thorin, perhaps you should stop digging. The hole you’ve got in front of you’s deep enough as it is,” Bofur teased. 

“Wait, ya mean yuv known all this time that Bilbo’s yer One and ya haven’t done anything about it?!” Dwalin shouted, outraged. 

“What was I supposed to do about it? He left. And after what I did to him, I had no right to ask him to stay. I still have no right.”

That shut everyone up. Because really, what could they say? Bilbo had already forgiven him. Their kind words and sincere attempts to sway his sense of guilt had brokered no results in the past. For ages, they let him brood.

Not just an hour or a day or two, but for over a week. Even once Thorin had his own pony and Orcrist was again strapped to his back, he was quiet for ages, ignoring the soft, bell-like laughter of the tykes and the light jokes exchanged between his friends. And even after the dark cloud lifted, Thorin kept a distance from the rest of the group despite their attempts to draw him in.  
Through Mirkwood, Beorn’s the Misty Mountains, Rivendell, and Bree. 

It was surprising how quickly their journey was nearing its end without a series of catastrophes and monsters hounding their every step. No wonder Gandalf had felt it safe to bring the hobbitlings on this trip. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful to give Thorin’s mind any respite. He knew just how close they were to the Shire, to Hobbiton, to Bilbo’s home. The distance was shrinking so quickly. And still, he did not know what to say. 

How do you tell someone so important, so crucial, that you’re tired of living without them? And, more importantly, how was he expected to go back to Erebor after this? Once he saw Bilbo, he knew he wouldn’t want to leave Bilbo’s side. But Bilbo was not free to go with him, as evidenced by young Frodo and the little companions he was so close to. 

Needless to say, Thorin was no less lost standing in front of Bilbo’s front door than he had been on the other side of the world. He stood there for long minutes, his heart frantic in his chest, as he tried to imagine the greeting he’d get, and school his face to avoid revealing too much. 

But, tired of waiting, Gandalf stretched a long arm over Thorin’s head and rapped on the door. 

Something clinked suspiciously like broken porcelain. Bangs came from inside the house as someone rushed to the fore. “Oh, goodness, already? Why, Gandalf, I thought your plans were to stay the season in Rivendell? Has Lord Elrond tired of you already?” Bilbo asked, as he opened the large door to his home. He didn’t look up until the last moment.

Bilbo gasped. “Th-Thorin?! W-what are you doing here?” His eyes were wide and…thirsty. They drank in the changes in Thorin’s face, tracing the angles and planes as if memorizing a picture he’d thought he knew by heart. 

At this point, perhaps Thorin should have explained. Not the kidnapping part. That was a story Bilbo never needed to hear. But it was a good opportunity to explain what was in his heart. To explain how much Bilbo was missed and how he couldn’t continue without his hobbit by his side. 

But, Thorin found himself struck speechless. Words weren’t enough for how his heart was suddenly a drum in his chest. He felt a century younger with the way his blood was rushing through his system. Honestly, how had he continued without Bilbo? Those years when they’d been separated felt like an empty dream. 

Without any warning, Thorin leaned in, cupped the back of Bilbo’s head, and kissed him. It was the first one they’d ever shared and it was not gentle. He licked across Bilbo’s mouth, seeking entry, nipping at soft, plump lips. 

Bilbo gasped in surprise, supple flesh parting.

Immediately, Thorin licked into his mouth. With possessive want, he drank of Bilbo, sucking his tongue, tracing and memorizing the sweet, hot cavern he penetrated, as his mind skipped forward to other things he’d like to do to that mouth. In rough imitation, he lapped at Bilbo’s mouth in desperate need.

A series of coughs and wheezes finally turned loud enough for Thorin to notice them. With regret, Thorin kissed Bilbo gently, once, twice, in just a press of lips, before letting Bilbo go, but not far. As a blushing Bilbo tried to step backwards in retreat, Thorin’s arms immediately came up, gently guiding him into the folds of his greatcoat. Holding the hobbit pressed tight into his chest, Thorin threw a glance at their audience.

Each of the little ones had a dwarf paw settled over their eyes. Dwalin was leering at them, Bofur was grinning cheekily, Kili had his own eyes covered with his hand, desperate to unsee the image of his uncle doing something un-uncle-like, and Gandalf’s eyes were twinkling merrily as he observed their reunion. 

With a harrumph, Thorin ignored their audience for another moment as he nuzzled the top of Bilbo’s head. Leaning down, he whispered into a pointed ear, “I believe it’s just about 4 o’clock. Aren’t you going to invite us in for tea?” 

Bilbo, cheeks flaming, glared up at Thorin. “Oh, indeed? First you accost me on my doorstep and then you want to be invited in for tea?”

“And dessert,” Thorin said, burying his nose in Bilbo’s curls, inhaling deeply of that scent. Like wet earth, spring, and flowers. A heady perfume that made his lust unreasonable. “We mustn’t forget about dessert.”

“What in the world has gotten into you, Thorin?” Bilbo asked, absolutely shocked. 

It was a fair question. They’d never had this discussion. Thorin had always hidden his greatest desires within the folds of friendship. He’d always limited himself to things that would be reasonable for a friend to do for another friend in his interactions with Bilbo. Instead of kisses, they’d exchanged long hugs. Instead of sleeping together in the full sense of the meaning, they’d napped on the same oversized lounge chairs when the whole Company was present and there weren’t enough chairs for everyone to have a seat to themselves. Instead of tender words of devotion and love, they’d shared promises and praise. 

“Why? Do you have an objection to this?” Thorin asked, although he was prepared to answer any denial. His knee already poised to nudge at the evidence that would disprove any reference of there only being friendship between them.

Bilbo, however, surprised him. Of course he did, because this was his hobbit. Boldly, he said, “Not at all. I’m just surprised that it’s you taking this initiative after all these years.” 

“I was a fool before, but I’m hoping to make up for it now.”

Another throat cleared behind them. 

“Yes, well, I’m sure we can talk about this just as well once everyone is settled inside with tea and biscuits, yes?” Bilbo tried to step away and invite the party in.

Thorin wouldn’t let go, however. He pulled his hobbit into the smial with him. “Gandalf, I’m sure you’ve been guest here often enough to know how to serve yourself some tea and Dwalin, I trust you can hunt down some cookies and milk to feed the younglings. We’ll return after our discussion.”

“Wait!” Bilbo tried to wiggle out of Thorin’s arms. “This is not how you treat guests, you confounded dwarf! You’re being ridiculous. Our conversation can wait!”

“No, it can’t. It’s waited a decade already. It can’t wait another minute.” Thorin bit the flesh above Bilbo’s collarbone in warning. “Do not test my patience. It’s already been wasted on this journey.” 

Bilbo sighed, and indeed he was frowning. “Oh, Thorin, why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I mean to make you mine. Permanently,” Thorin said, voice a purr. He couldn’t help the way his hands wandered. Even as Bilbo danced away from his reach, leading them into his study, he couldn’t outmaneuver a warrior too used to pressing and herding enemies. Thorin’s hands anticipated Bilbo’s movements, catching and stroking at limbs, playing with his blushing prey. 

“Stop it, Thorin!” Bilbo stomped his foot as he scampered into the supposed safety of his study. 

Upon entry, Thorin locked the door behind him, starling his hobbit friend.

“This isn’t a game, Your Majesty,” Bilbo growled at him, unhappily. “You can’t just come here for a romp and then leave me to miss you as you return to your kingdom. I won’t allow it! I’d rather only miss my dearest friend, Thorin, than to miss the other half of my heart.” 

“I’m already the other half of your heart, as you are the other half of mine. And, there won’t be any partings in our near future. Just having tasted you was too much. It would haunt me to the end of my days, the illusive feel of you pressed against me. It would drive me to endless distraction. And…even without that, I…can’t anymore. I miss laughter. I miss the feeling of joy and excitement. I miss how everything felt endurable when you were by my side. I honestly don’t know how I let you go the first time. But I know that I’m already past the point where I could do so again.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come here!” 

“I wasn’t going to! I planned to leave you alone, despite the torment it caused me daily to be away from you. But the wizard and your hobbitlings came for me. I was not allowed to refuse them. And now that I am here, I can see most clearly how my strength of will has departed me. It’s no longer in me to be separated from you. Come what may, I will remain by your side always.”

Bilbo scoffed. “And if I refuse to have you by my side?”

It was a bluff. A terribly obvious one, but Thorin answered it honestly. “Then I will spend the rest of my days in your vicinity. If you have the strength to refuse me, day after day, for years to come, then you’re free to do so. But don’t think I won’t try every trick in the book to bargain acceptance from you.” 

Shaking his head, Bilbo looked at Thorin like he had a screw loose. “You say that like there won’t be the whole of Arda between us. Have you forgotten that you’re the King of Erebor? What will you do? Write letters to me? Leave a carving of yourself on my front porch?”

“No, I will stay here. Fili is old enough for the throne, and the support of Balin and Dis to keep him level. Erebor is in a good place. Freshly healed, armed to the teeth, its riches neatly packed in coffers and in use for the good of the people. There’s no better time to be in retirement.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. There’s no way you’d leave your mountain and your family to pine on my doorstep.”

Thorin had let Bilbo slide away from him as he’d been making his points, but already it seemed like they’d been apart for too long. With a lightning fast grap, his hands settled on Bilbo’s hips and tugged him forward. He kept his wide-eyed hobbit there, enjoying the way the smaller male trembled. “I have spent a lifetime surrounded by family. And you have spent a great length of time without. I would have shared my family gladly, but if your place is here, then yes, I will leave everything and everyone behind.”

“But your responsibilities – ”

“ – can all be overseen by others. I have already done my part. And I am willing to be selfish with the remainder of my life.”

“I have to do what’s best for Frodo,” Bilbo said, softly. “If he decides he wants to stay here with his friends, you’re really willing to do this? Live here? Play parent to a faunt? Suffer odd looks and gossip from petty hobbits who turn their noses up at bravery and grand adventures?”

Thorin grinned. Those questions meant that he’d be getting everything his heart desired and more. In fact, he hadn’t even considered it. Being a parent. He’d never been one before. As much as he loved his nephews and no matter how much of a role model he’d been in their lives, he’d missed most of their childhood. He’d had a population to see through hard times, a settlement to stabilize, a household to feed and support. Those responsibilities had left him on the road for much of those young dwarfling years. 

“Gladly,” Thorin promised. “I will gladly stay here. I don’t think you understand just how very much I can no longer be parted from you. The very thought makes my heart feel weak. I won’t leave this place for the rest of my life if it’s not with you beside me. Alright?”

Swallowing relieved tears, Bilbo said, “Alright.” He couldn’t have predicted the way Thorin would react to that soft, heartfelt acceptance.

With a wickedly joyful grin, Thorin’s hand slid down from Bilbo’s hips to cup his bottom and with an effortless lift, Bilbo found himself sitting on his desk. Papers crinkled beneath his seat, pages of drafts for his stories. “Th-thorin? What are you – ?” he tried to ask, but a mouth covered his.

Thorin’s height allowed him to tower over Bilbo, even with him perched on the big desk’s edge at the inopportune height parallel to Thorin’s crotch. 

The dwarf king wasted no time parting Bilbo’s knees and inserting himself between them. And he stayed between Bilbo’s knees for the next few hours, in one form or another. Whether it was at the desk or against the door or near the hearth or upon the chair. He gave the word starved a new definition. And when it was supper time, he was not near enough satiated. 

Thankfully, Bilbo had yet enough energy to badger the king into agreeing on a discussion about the future. They cleaned up themselves in the washroom – the room would unfortunately have to wait until they had enough time to properly disinfect all the…tainted surfaces – and they met the grinning Company in the dining room for a spot of soup and this morning’s bread. 

By that time, Sam, Merry and Pippin had gone home and Gandalf was away, visiting the Thain. The Company hushed as Bilbo and Thorin flanked Frodo. They could sense the serious moment and respectfully stopped tossing the jelly donut balls across the table.

Suspicious at the sudden quiet, Frodo stopped eating and looked from his uncle to the dwarf king and back again. “You were gone for a very long time, Uncle,” he commented.

Bilbo couldn’t control the way his cheeks colored. He stared into his soup bowl for a few long minutes, willing his blush away. When he was finally less embarrassed, he cleared his throat and face little Frodo again. “I suppose since you came back with Thorin that Gandalf took you to see Erebor.”

Frodo nodded. 

“And what did you think of it.”

Frodo’s eyes lit up. “It was amazing! There were stone dwarves as tall as mountains and big halls and gates and lanterns and shiny things in the walls and all the dwarves smiled at us and offered us treats and we played with the princes in a bunch of secret places in the mountain before we went to capture the King.” 

Bilbo hummed. “And what did you think of the King?” he asked, catching Thorin’s gaze over Frodo’s head.

Frodo turned to Thorin and said quite bluntly. “You know, you’re rather grumpy. And quiet. And you make funny faces. But then, so does Bilbo. I think it’s something that happens when you miss someone. I guess at least you didn’t cry. It always made me sad to see Uncle cry when he thought about you.” 

Both Thorin and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably at that. 

“In that case, how would you feel if Thorin was always a part of your life?”

Grinning, Frodo said, “I’d make sure he would never be grumpy again.”

“With you to take care of, I’m sure it’d be impossible to be grumpy,” Thorin said, ruffling dark curls.

But now came the hard part, the tough decision. Bilbo worried his lip, hating the anxious feeling in his stomach. 

Thankfully, Thorin was braver in this moment. Probably because he knew his own mind and could say with all confidence that he wouldn’t be leaving. With fingers petting dark hair, he said, “In that case, all that remains is for you to decide where you’d like to live.”

At that, Frodo stopped eating. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I used to live in Erebor. You met Lady Dis and her sons, the Princes,” he nodded towards Fili. “You and your Uncle could join me in the mountain, or I could come live with you in this hobbit hole.”

Kili gasped and Dwalin nearly choked on a bread chunk. 

“Uncle, you’re staying here? But who will be King?” 

Thorin shot Kili a look and then waited with patience for Frodo to give his answer.

“I…I could go live in a mountain?” Frodo asked, his mouth a little slack at the possibility.

“Indeed, you could, but your friends would remain here in Hobbiton with their own families this time,” Thorin reminded the hobbitling. 

“But…they could still visit, right? And we wouldn’t have to run into Aunt Lobelia at market anymore? And we wouldn’t have to talk to any of the old ladies who like to shake their fingers at Uncle? And there would be no more snobby people coming to tea time! Just dwarves! And there are elves living near the mountain, right? And Men? Can we really go live in the mountain, Uncle?” Frodo asked, wide-eyed, staring at Bilbo.

The older hobbit stared at his charge. “You really don’t mind? Moving away? Having to make new friends? Only seeing your old ones every once in a while? Living with Thorin and his family?”

Frodo laughed outright. “Of course not! Why would I have brought him here, otherwise?” 

Thorin linked his fingers with Bilbo’s behind Frodo’s back. Their hands clasped like that felt like a promise. One Thorin felt he didn’t deserve. But, Bilbo had missed him and didn’t Bilbo deserve to be happy? 

So, it was with great trepidation that Thorin admitted to himself that he owed both his sister and the wizard huge favors. But, for once, he knew whatever they demanded of him, it would be worth it for the happiness they’d “gifted” him.


End file.
